


Circles

by EvilDime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Dark Harry, Death, Drama, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilDime/pseuds/EvilDime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know how history has a tendency to repeat itself? Things just seem to go in circles. Like father, like son...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circles

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: [Shivani](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shivani/pseuds/Shivani)  
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine, I make no money with this fanfiction and anything else I should have written in my disclaimer, but forgot, also applies. 
> 
> This is another one of those fics where I write a Harry trying and failing to be a real dark lord. ; )

The door creaked open.

Voldemort stepped into the little dark cell with a sinister smile. Two men in black cloaks followed right behind the Dark Lord as he approached the figure huddled into one corner. The man, if man he be under all that dirt which barely even was distinguishable from the torn clothes, made no sound, no motion to acknowledge his visitors.

"How the mighty have fallen," Voldemort taunted with a grin.

"Indeed," a croaky voice answered.

The figure was on its feet in one flowing motion. Taking the Dark Lord totally by surprise, he drew back his hand and, with not so much as a minute hesitation, plunged his fingers straight though the Dark Lord's eyes.

"AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGHHHH!!!"

The brains of the Dark Lord Voldemort were _not_ supposed to come into direct contact with the hands of his mortal enemy, and the reaction wasn't pretty.

The Dark Lord's dying scream pierced the dank air of Azkaban prison, multiplied a hundredfold by his Death Eaters, all of them writhing on the stones of the fortress in unbearable pain at the death of their Master.

Voldemort's torn red eyes turned green before their lids closed, never to open again.

Harry Potter calmly stepped forward to lay his hand on the arm of the closest Death Eater. He muttered a quick enchantment under his breath. The years in Azkaban had given him ample time to train his abilities to remain focused, so once the wards were down, wandless magic was no longer an issue.

Suddenly, the Death Eaters stopped twitching. A few more moans could be heard, but soon all of them were sitting upright, peeling down their sleeves and looking at their Dark Marks.

They no longer hurt. Indeed, they were no longer what they used to be.

Instead of the skull and serpent, ingrained into the flesh of every single Death Eater now was a green lightning bolt shattering a grey prison fortress.

Harry Potter picked up the deceased Dark Lord's wand with ease, then turned to his minions.

"If you still care to live, I suggest you get the hell out of here. Azkaban will fall before the day is over. If you indeed want to keep on living, I also strongly recommend you do not miss my audience tonight at the Dark Manor."

Having said this, the man who once had been known as the Boy-Who-Lived, hope of the wizarding world, waved Voldemort's wand and apparated away.

* * *

It had been ten years since the betrayal of the Boy-Who-Lived. Ten years of fighting Death Eaters without hopes of ever vanquishing their cruel master.

Then, one day, all hell suddenly broke lose as Death Eaters all across the United Kingdom started crying out in pain, clutching their burning arms.

It lasted less than a minute.

The wizarding world had not even had time to heave a sigh of relief. For the death of Voldemort had brought about the rise of a new Dark Lord. And contrary to Voldemort with his quest for pure blood, the new one did not even have a superficial excuse for the slaughter he caused wherever he set foot.

The Dark Lord 'Christo' was even worse than Voldemort had ever been.

The only positive thing that could be said about him was that he never directly targeted Muggles. And if they appeared on the obituary pages quite a lot as well, they usually ran under 'collateral damage'.

While the wizarding world at large still wondered about the aims of the new Dark Lord, among the Death Eaters it was well known Lord Christo wanted but one thing: Revenge.

And so two years went by.

People died, more people came to fill their places. New prophecies were made, others were forgotten. The hope of the people rose and fell with every turn of fate, until eventually, one dark night in July, the final battle came about, as it is wont to happen at least once in the reign of every Dark Lord.

By then, most wizards had either joined sides with the Dark Lord, in the misguided hope of staying alive that way, or fled the British isles.

On a field outside of Ottery St. Catchpole, the Dark Lord's progress toward the home of one of the few wizarding families still living in Britain was interrupted.

By a boy of about twelve years.

The boy stood straight and proud as the Dark Lord approached him. He held his head up high and his wand outstretched, wand arm still, even though the rest of his body was shaking like a leaf.

"Boy, you are a fool if you think you can stop me."

Defiantly, spectacle-framed eyes looked back at the Dark Lord from below a messy mop of red hair.

"I will not let you have my family."

"The Weasleys are a bunch of traitors and they deserve to die. Tell me, boy, which of the treacherous bastards is your father?"

"My _mother_ is Ginevra Weasley."

"Was. I just killed her on the way."

The boy gulped, but apart from that, the only reaction he showed was that he stood a bit straighter still.

He glared at the Dark Lord with pure loathing.

"Tell me just one thing. Why?"

Dark Lord Christo looked down on the brave little child and snorted in disgust.

"Why? That is the big question, now isn't it? It's the one question I still haven't figured out myself.

"You see, after ten years in Azkaban, I _still_ do not know, to this day, why I was even sent there.

"Tell me, boy, since I never got an answer: Why did the wizarding world turn its back on me? Why was I dumped into bloody hell on earth without so much as a trial? Why was the first person to ever come visit me there the one person who was out to kill me?"

The boy's eyes widened ever so slightly as he just continued to stare at the man.

"No answer? I thought not. I am sure the Daily Prophet cooked up some elaborate story of how I betrayed everyone and had escaped to some unknown foreign country, just as it usually does. Quite assuredly, the whole world had _fun_ slandering my name, as it always has done, and always will.

"So, that was my question. Now, to come back to yours: Why did _I_ follow in Voldemort's tracks?

"Easy.

"I was never given another choice.

"I wanted a normal life, but was never granted one.

"I agreed to throw my lot in against the evil Dark Lord, but I was treated as a mere pawn, to be pushed around at leisure.

"I had been ready to play the tragic hero, even to die for the good of the world; all it earned me was a place in a dingy cell for a decade of my life, listening to my parents and friends dying as the Dementors glided by.

"Even the people I loved turned from me and never looked back.

"So, the question really is: Why not?"

The boy stared at the man in wide-eyed shock, nearly dropping his wand. His lips shook. Finally, two words quietly slipped out **:**

"You lie."

The Dark Lord looked at him out of burning red eyes.

"You wish."

The boy never lowered his gaze, never wavered, as the Dark Lord took his aim.

"One more question, boy, for the record: What's your name? ... _Crucio_."

Red light shot out of the wand containing a feather of a phoenix who had once hoped for great things out of both of the wand's owners, and had time and time again been disappointed.

Just as the curse was about to end his life, the boy whispered: "Harry Sirius Weasley."

Then he dropped dead, green eyes closing to never gaze at the cruelty of the world again.

* * *

The Dark Lord stared at his victim in shock.

Ginny had been pregnant?

Was that why she had not been there, that day when they came to carry him off? When he had been to meet her at the lake, for the first time after months of not seeing her?

Was that why he had been led to believe that even the love of his life had turned against him? Because she had been in labour with _his_ child?

Harry Potter calmly took his wand in hand and set the tip to his brow.

"Avada Kedavra."

**Author's Note:**

> Just to spoil the mood *g*, I want to share with you Shivani's comment on this story:  
>  _I find the oneshot amusing in the end, though I generally despise het, and absolutely loathe Harry/Ginny. I find Harry's reaction at the end to be appropriate.  "Well fuck me silly.  I not only just killed the woman I love(d) and who bore me a son, and who quite likely never betrayed me, but also that son I didn't realize I had.  Bloody hell, there's only one thing to do, then.  Now I just need to find a spork so I can spork myself to death.  Or, well, I suppose an AK would do it."_


End file.
